Sleep Well
by sadistoid
Summary: It's fun to act tough (even better if you're not acting) but sometimes you just need someone to kiss your forehead while you sleep, and let the vulnerability seep through. Also known as sometimes Rafael want's so fluffy shit. One shot.


It is a dark night. Thunder crackles over head as rain pounds the ground, and lightning flashes light the way for the people scurrying to get out of the down pour. Despite that, it is still humid, the rain warm, as if not even the rage of nature can contain and stop Antiva's natural temperature.

One figure stands before the entrance to a tavern, one hand holding a long staff which he leans on, his hood obscuring all but his lips and chin in shadow. He opens the door of the place and shuffles in, welcoming the break from the cold, and nods at the barkeep, who purses his lips and nods upstairs. The hooded figure wanders off, up the stairs, to a room at the end of a well light hall. At the door to the room itself, he straightens his posture, placing the staff in a holster on his back, and cautiously opening the door.

He is immediately attacked.

He cannot see his attacker, but the person lands on his hips, and he hears the sounds of blades in the air. He grabs for where the arms should be and succeeds in keeping them away from him, but the persons legs squeeze tighter and he falls to the ground, the person on top of him. A chuckle comes from somewhere above him, and he scowls in response.

"So, I finally fell the mighty Grey Warden, eh?"

"Zev, you couldn't kill me if you tried. You also couldn't keep from being entirely predictable if you tried." Vanitas uses one boot-covered-foot to close the door to his room so no one sees him and the elf sitting firmly on top of him and decides to report something to whatever Antiva called it's guards. _Not that they'd come, seeing as Zev was exactly the sort of person they're trained to ignore if he's on business_.

"Ah, but surely you jest! Killing you would be too easy. A poisoned blade right after a little massage would work perfectly, and all you'd do is complain about how I hadn't finished the job soon enough." Zevran's hands began playing with the mages chainmail outfit, hands running small circles right where Van's new tattoo was, drawing in a sharp intake of breath from the mage and earning him another scowl. "The look on your face, my dear Warden. It is either that or it is a smirk. It is not satisfying, where is my happy smile for the lover returning home safely? Where is my present? No, no, the real question here-" Zevran bent lower, so that his mouth was right next to the caramel ear of his lover "- is where is my kiss?"

Gently, the man raised his hand so he could stroke Zevran's face, his tattoo's, an armored gloves cold touch on the assassins lips, before grabbing his head and pushing him bodily off. "Kiss him," Van says, and the sound of a bed adjusting under a large weight is the only warning the assassin gets before a giant shadow leaps on him and begins to lick his face with a joyful abandon. Zevran quickly realizes that he cannot breath, and also that the dog will not move from it's spot firmly on top of him.

He also realizes that Van is smirking again as he removes pieces of armor slowly, stripping down to only his small clothes, and sliding into the large bed the mabari has left.

Finally, there is an opening in the barrage of love, and Zevran uses that "S-Stop, Lassie. I am still a virgin to this sort of love, I need more experience." The hound whined a little, and Zevran laughed. "Ahh, you're worried about my lack of experience? Trust me, I am eager to learn, and a fast learner."

The sounds of Lassie's mimed vomiting were only interrupted by Vanitas' chuckling, and Zevran took this as an invitation to move back to the bed, although not without a hurried "Perhaps another time," to the unfortunate hound, who whined again and curled up over by the door.

"Mon amor, you're faithful hound doesn't want to let me love her. It makes me sad," he pouted at the human to illustrate his point.

"I don't blame her. She has good taste, and you're, well, not exactly her type." The mage said quietly. There was silence as Zevran took of his boots, unsnapping straps and placing pieces of armor down on the ground, and removing holsters for his knives so he could lay them all on the ground. As he finished, leaving only one knife holster on his naked thigh, Van spoke again. "Where'd you go?"

Zev pauses. "Kirkwall," he says finally, unsure of whether or not he wants to say more. "I killed Garsea, so a few of his students came for revenge. I got help from a mage they called the Champion of Kirkwall. She reminded me of you Warden," Zevran finished with a smile, as he slid into the bed, sliding up to the Rivani despite the warmth of the room.

"Really? Did she kill a whole bunch of templar's while you were there?" The mage said, his voice drowsy with sleep. Zevran smirked. _He is ready for sleep. As always._

"Of course. I even helped, although I doubt she will ever know. As it should be, I suppose," the assassin drawled, smiling as his lover's head drifted. Finally, Van's shaved head rested firmly on the elf's bronzed shoulder, and he moved slightly to make the man more comfortable. Kissing him on the forehead before settling back down, he smiled and whispered "Sleep peacefully, mon amor. _Yo siempre__te cuide_."


End file.
